


Crunch Time

by chuutoku



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Drama, Gen, Humor, Satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuutoku/pseuds/chuutoku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate times call for desperate measures. The high school entrance exam isn't a conventional villain; hence, Tsuna and Enma have to beat it with some, ah, unconventional help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crunch Time

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the fourth prompt of Livejournal's "write_and_run" Katekyo Hitman Reborn! fanfiction contest community, "corruption; the ends justified the means." Passing familiarity with the rules of Cluedo recommended!

It’s that time of year again, folks! Scores of variations for this evaluation abound (if you’ll forgive the imminent irony) but reaction to the principle of the thing is nigh considered a universal maxim: _T-today’s the standardized test, mom? I… I really don’t think I can go, I mean it. My head hurts, my chest feels heavy, I think I’m gonna throw up, p-please -- ! DON’T MAKE ME GET OUT OF BED!_  
  
“It’s okay, Tsuna! Everybody at your age has to go through this, so don’t worry -- you won’t be the only one getting thirtieth percentile.”  
  
“T-Thanks, mom.”  
  
“Your favorite breakfast’s on the table!”  
  
Small comfort when Lambo plants a grenade in Tsuna’s food _again_ (“THAT WAS REBORN’S PLATE! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SIT OVER _THERE_ , TSUNA!”), Bianchi packs him a snack (“I prepared it just for you. Please share with the others. Good luck.”) and Fuuta reminds him his odds of passing are astronomically low. (“Tsuna is ranked 349 out of 351 Namimori Middle students on standardized testing, um, surpassed only by Kozato Enma and Hibari Kyoya. B-but it’s okay! The planets have their off days, too!”) Even Haru's chipper _You can do it, Tsuna! Even if you can't do it that well! I believe in you!_ bites.  
  
“Yikes, Tenth, you don’t look so hot.”  
  
“Um... yeah, I’m not feeling that great, Gokudera.”  
  
“Anything I can do? I mean, it’s not going to be as good as _that thing_ was, of course, but I could always -- ”  
  
Tsuna shakes his head, wishes the walk to school were longer for a split second. “It’s fine. You don’t need to blow stuff up. You, uh, never need to blow stuff up, actually. Enma and I... came up with something.”  
  
Cue the raised brows and big eyes. “Seriously?”  
  
“You’ll see.”

* * *

Let’s rewind a week.

Tsuna and Enma have set up camp in the former’s room and surrounded themselves with the staples of cramming: Every textbook for every class they’ve taken this year (each one opened maybe three times total), presharpened pencils and erasable pens, stacks of paper to their knees, (already) damp sweatbands on their foreheads and mounds of chip bags, sodas, chocolate bars and artificial flavors in all their delectable guises by their feet. Reborn naps on Tsuna’s bed. Lambo, blessed child, is gone, out playing with I-Pin. Bianchi’s busy. Mama laughs at a soap. Fuuta’s... either kidnapped or revisiting outer space, same thing.  
  
Tsuna and Enma. Screwed.  
  
“See, if we hadn’t spent most of second semester dealing with Daemon Spade, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”  
  
“I don’t know, Tsuna.” Enma sighs. “I don’t think class would’ve helped much. In my case, anyway.”  
  
“Ms. Pre-Algebra taught factoring with a rap. Look at this and tell me what you’d rather learn from, please.”

 

 

  


  
  
“.... Yeah. That’s true. Hey, though, isn't that some kind of formula? What’s it called again...? Qua -- ”  
  
“Doesn’t make any difference if we can’t use it. And all this cramming? Isn’t going to make any difference if we don’t remember what we studied while we're taking the test.”  
  
 _All kinds_ of screwed. They split a bag of Cheetos between them, leave disgustingly cheesy fingerprints on their notes -- proof they tried. Bloody crusts from war wounds, even.  
  
“Hey, Tsuna.”  
  
Munch. “What?”  
  
“Um... well.”  
  
Munch.  
  
“You know, we could....”  
  
Munch. “Uh huh?”  
  
“Bring something with us. To the test.”  
  
 _Cru_ \-- “Wait. Are you saying we should cheat?” -- _nch._  
  
“W-well, what other option do we have?! We’re not going to make it to high school, Tsuna! We’ll be fourteen years old forever and -- ”  
  
“No. No, stop. Yeah.” Tsuna cringes. “I see your point. I couldn’t stand being in middle school for one more year if they paid me. But....”  
  
“It’s not ethical, I know.”  
  
“Well, that, too, but... imagine the trouble we’ll get into if we’re caught.”  
  
“Can’t be worse than Spade.”  
  
“ _Can be._ Trust me, Enma. What would Adelheid do to you if she found out?”  
  
Enma imagines.  
  
“.... Still, we have to risk it, Tsuna. I mean, realistically, let’s say we have to repeat eighth grade. You know a bigger, badder Daemon Spade’s going to show up and we’ll miss half the year again. And fail the test, again. Rinse, repeat. For the rest of our lives. Come on, is that fair? How come saving the world on a seasonal basis _isn’t_ enough of an excuse to skip the entrance exam?”  
  
“Well, they don’t know about that. If they did, we’d have other issues.”  
  
“So let’s pick the option with the least issues. Okay, we bend the rules a little, but everybody wins in the end. Kind of. We graduate, at least.”  
  
“.... Yeah.”  
  
“I don’t feel that good about it either. But....”  
  
“But what else can we do? Alright, Enma. We’ll... give it a shot. Let’s consult the experts.”

* * *

Gokudera and Uri live in a single bedroom, single bathroom (literal) flat on the outskirts of town, part of a complex of identical buildings that house mostly college students, working women and the occasional old man. The squareness of it all strikes Tsuna; even the bicycle wheels appear quadrilateral. About twenty seconds after the tinny doorbell sounds, Gokudera ushers them inside.

“Uh, sorry it's kind of messy. I was working on some things.”  
  
He plants himself firmly in front of Tsuna and Enma, beams bright enough to emit ultraviolet light. Out of the corners of their eyes, they spot blueprints, journal articles, empty ramen bowls and a preening Uri behind him.  
  
“What can I do for you, Tenth?”  
  
“Is... that for the test, Gokudera?”  
  
“Oh, what, the stuff on the table?" He runs a hand through his hair and his smile turns sheepish. "Nah. Just an idea I had. I couldn't sleep last night, so I started looking up some crap about aeronautics and -- got a little carried away. You guys want me to help you study?”  
  
“.... Kind of,” Enma says.  
  
“Gokudera,” Tsuna begins, “Enma and I were talking a couple hours ago and we... came to the conclusion we're probably not going to pass. Just by cramming, I mean.”  
  
“You kidding? Of course you will! I've been drilling that baseball freak on quadratics since last week. If even an idiot can do it, Tenth, _you_ definitely can.”  
  
“It's, um, a little late to learn everything we've missed since second semester started.”  
  
“It's okay, I know a couple shortcuts.”  
  
“Which is what we wanted to ask you about,” Enma breaks in. “Would you... it's, uh, just that we -- ”  
  
“We need you to help us cheat, Gokudera,” Tsuna finishes.  
  
“Oh.” Gokudera blinks. “Sure, Tenth.”  
  
In the background, Uri stretches, knocks a couple day-old ramen cups off the table. _Crunch._  
  
“You're... you're okay with that?”  
  
“Why not?” Gokudera shrugs. “You tried your best. We've done worse. It's just a stupid test. You'll pass however you need to, you know?”  
  
“Y-yeah,” Tsuna says, stares. “Uh, thanks.”  
  
“Don't mention it. C'mon, let's strategize.”  
  
They entertain possibilities over tea mugs. Consider cheating a way of accounting for the brain's fallibility; how else could we define it without defaulting to "wrong?" -- or something to that effect. Tsuna and Enma pay more attention to Gokudera's repertoire of tricks than his justification for shirking the system. Girls have it easier, he says: They can scribble formulas on their thighs just inside the hems of their skirts and accuse a teacher of pedophilia if s/he notices. Gokudera could program their calculators to pull up formulas and rules -- Ms. Pre-Algebra couldn't possibly check if they're clean beforehand -- but they'd only be able to consult them on the mathematics portion. If they could bring waterbottles into the exam, they could write key dates and figures on the inside of the bottles' labels. If they didn't have to turn in their cell phones for the duration of the period, they could Google some answers. They could always prep a bathroom before testing, too -- hide cheatsheets in the trash or rolls of toilet paper, for example -- but the staff usually cleans while students take the test.  
  
Enma worries his lip. “School sure makes it difficult.”  
  
“I think I might have an idea,” Gokudera says, twirling one of his many rings around a finger with his thumb. “Can you wait until Friday, Tenth?”  
  
“S-sure.”  
  
Gokudera smirks. “Don't fret. I've got it all under control.”

* * *

T minus five days: Wednesday.  
  
Tsuna finds himself playing Cluedo with half the gang. He'd try harder to understand the chain of events that led to this state of affairs -- something like Reborn waking him up with a warning that some friends would be over in an hour to, quote, play a classic mafia game, endquote -- but Kyoko (delicately, adorably) moving Colonel Mustard's pawn commands most of his attention.  
  
“Still too far from the lounge,” Kyoko mutters, gives the die to Haru.  
  
“Better get a move on or the boys'll beat us,” Haru says, wriggles her wrist with a vengeance. She rolls a six and flicks Mrs. White's pawn into the kitchen. “Yes! Okay, um, let me check the scorecard real quick... was it Professor Plum in the kitchen with a revolver?”  
  
“Go to hell, Haru,” the Professor Plum in question -- Gokudera -- scowls.  
  
“See you there if I'm right,” Haru counters sweetly. She turns to Yamamoto -- Reverend Green -- who shrugs his shoulders and grins.  
  
“Perfect,” Haru smirks, looks at Chrome. “Any objections?”

Chrome shakes her head, glances at Gokudera on her left. Hibird -- present in lieu of Hibari, Tsuna thinks -- rearranges his feathers, nestled in the pineapple on her head.  
  
“‘No objections,’” Gokudera seethes. “Can't see why I'd shoot someone when I could _just as effectively_ blow them to smithereens.”  
  
“Um,” Tsuna starts, but Lambo interrupts him. “MISS SCARLETT AGREES. SEE, SEE.”  
  
Lambo wiggles out of Tsuna's hold and snatches a card out of Tsuna's hand, knocking several pieces off the board in his scramble to show it to Haru. The _crunch_ of cardboard seems to frighten Hibird; he circles the room only to land on Haru's ponytail.  
  
“ _Veeery_ interesting.” Haru ticks a box on her scorecard, shoos Hibird out of her hair. He settles again in Chrome's and ruffles his feathers.  
  
Tsuna tunes out Yamamoto's turn. He helps Kyoko set the board straight instead, slips Lambo a grape candy in an effort to calm him down. He notices the sides of Kyoko's fingers have developed small callouses -- from holding a pencil, probably, and studying hard. His stomach somersaults; she never uses concealer even when it's obvious she stayed up late the night before. He....  
  
“I would like to make an accusation.”  
  
…. _Wait, what?_  
  
“Wait, what? How'd you figure it out so fast, Chrome?” Yamamoto says, tone appreciative. If Haru cheers one more time, Gokudera might throttle her.  
  
Chrome blushes. “It was me, Mrs. Pea -- ”  
  
 _CRASH._  
  
“.... Uh, guys, that was definitely the sound of my living room window breaking.”  
  
Gokudera's up in a heartbeat. “Stay put, Tenth.” His shirtsleeves are already bunched up at the elbow; two sticks of dynamite balance between his fingers.  
  
Yamamoto stretches to a stand, smiles. “We'll take care of this, Tsuna.”  
  
 _SLAM._  
  
Too late! Tsuna's bedroom door hangs limply on its hinges. Hunched over the threshold, eyes roaming the premises and narrowed to slits, is --  
  
“HII...! _HIBARI?!_ ”  
  
“Oh, hey,” Yamamoto waves. “Did you come to join the game? You really gave us a scare, haha.”  
  
“ _I'm still scared_ ,” Tsuna mentions as Hibari aims a tonfa at Chrome. She clutches her scorecard, eye following Hibird's path above her head.  
  
“Rokudo Mukuro,” Hibari whispers, voice tracking the animal's arc, “get out of Hibird's body this instant or I'll bite your precious Dokuro Chrome to death.”  
  
 _Kufufu_ \-- and somehow it's _creepier_ , Tsuna thinks, coming from that little yellow thing. Mukuro -- Hibird, nightmare hybrid of the two, whatever -- magics the window open and (temporarily) escapes; it takes Hibari two long strides to cross Tsuna's room, hop through the window frame and chase Mubird on foot.  
  
“So are you implying,” Gokudera breaks the ensuing silence, “that Mukuro, as Hibird, was flying around looking at peoples' cards and relaying the info back to you, Chrome?”  
  
“He wanted to play, too,” she explains.  
  
“But he didn't have to cheat,” Yamamoto says.  
  
“Yeah,” Haru interjects, “he could've just played _with_ you instead of spying on everyone else _for_ you. Like how Tsuna and Lambo were working together! Did he think you couldn't figure it out on your own or something?”  
  
“No, it wasn't that....”  
  
The pause fills with Kyoko's laughter rather than Chrome's words.  
  
“S-sorry,” Kyoko says, hand over her mouth. “About your window, too, Tsuna. We'll help you fix it. I just... I can't believe that happened, haha! That was so clever of both of you, Chrome. I didn't suspect a thing. I mean, it's not like this was important, right? Just a game. And it was much more fun this way!”  
  
“YEAH,” Lambo shrieks. “TSUNA'S GONNA GET IN _SOOO_ MUCH TROUBLE! HA _HA_!”  
  
“Haha,” Tsuna echoes. For once, Kyoko's giggles make him want to gag instead of smile. He tries to catch Gokudera's eye but his attention's on the window, outside. Thinking about... what, how the world's ultimately a series of games and how you play's all that matters? Something half-cliché, half-cynical; however geniuses conceptualize and condense the simple things around them into short, memorable idioms. Yeah -- something snappy and smart like that.  
  
Tsuna feels sick. He might stay home and skip class tomorrow.

* * *

T minus three days: The promised Friday.  
  
“Are... are these yours, Gokudera?!”  
  
“They were,” he replies, absorbed in some last minute fiddling. Tsuna sits with him and Enma in the dining room. Dinner finished fifteen minutes ago and, in between dessert and doing dishes, they take advantage of the empty house to attend to business. Bianchi and Mama went for a walk carrying Lambo, Fuuta crawled into bed, Reborn pulled his usual disappearing act. As soon as the room emptied, Gokudera placed a small, cardboard box on the table, flipped open its lid. Inside: Two large, silver rings, intertwined wires running down their sides, inlaid with a fingers-width, flat surface. Two minuscule knobs protrude below the surrogate stone. Overall, the effect's pretty steampunk.  
  
“That should do it. Here, try them on. Left hand, index or middle finger.”  
  
“So... how do these work?”  
  
“Well, Tenth,” he starts, puffed up with pride, “I've loaded all my notes from first and second semesters on the rings, ordered by subject. You might have to squint to read them on the screen, but they're all there. The left knob’s for scrolling through subject; the right knob scrolls through a particular page of notes. It's kind of time consuming, so I wouldn't make too much use of it, but if you get stuck, you basically have all our textbooks in shorthand.” He pauses. “I, uh, hope it's what you wanted.”  
  
“A-are you kidding?” Tsuna, eyes like saucers, watches Enma switch between physics and literature. “These are perfect! Thank you so much, Gokudera! Wow, I can't believe you even _came up_ with this. Should we pay you back for the rings?”  
  
“Oh, don't even worry about it, Tenth! It's fine; they were kind of small on me.” Gokudera scratches his nose, coughs a little, smiles. “I'm, um, glad they work for you.”  
  
Enma nods his head. “Seriously, thank you. We'll definitely make it up to you.”  
  
“You can do that by acing the test, alright?”  
  
Tsuna and Enma can only grin simultaneously. “Alright!”  
  
Later that night, once both guests have left and the house quiets, Tsuna hits the books.

* * *

Unfortunately.  
  
Now, don't attribute this to karma; that risks giving too much credit to cause and effect when -- really! -- half the time we connect dots that don't exist just to enjoy a pretty picture. Like on Mama Sawada's soaps: “He cheated on me because of (something) and (something else) with (recently ascended minor character)!” Protagonist says. Next to no evidence for such a conclusion but, suddenly, her life makes a lot of sense and seems poetic -- therefore making her husband's infidelity _totally worth it_!  
  
Not so for situations that lend themselves less well to romance. Observe:  
  
“E-Enma.”  
  
“Hi, Tsuna. Wha -- ” Enma stretches out the vowel with a languorous yawn “ -- at's up?”  
  
“Enma. _Enma._ I don't understand what happened. I don't. I _can't_ because if I do that means it actually _happened_ and the last time I tried to understand anything _I became a mafia boss_ and -- ”  
  
“Calm down, Tsuna.” Enma inches out of his Sunday evening stupor. “One step at a time.”  
  
“Please tell me you studied.”  
  
“Well, yeah, a little bit on some stuff, but... wait a second, you're not telling me -- ?!”  
  
“I got home,” Tsuna starts, gulps, “from Yamamoto's restaurant fifteen minutes ago. His, uh, dad made sushi for us -- me, Gokudera and Yamamoto, I mean -- 'cause he said it's better to relax the night before a test so you can save all your energy for the day of, you know? And that was great, we watched a baseball game and everything, but when I came back and went up to my room, Lambo....”  
  
“.... There's no way.”  
  
“ _I know, right?!_ But he.... I guess I forgot to put them away the night before or something, Enma, I'm so sorry, but he thought they were _stamps_ \-- ”  
  
“You're joking.”  
  
“ -- and completely destroyed the screens. I doubt the rings would still work even if we cleaned them seeing as Lambo _drenched them in ink_.”  
  
Silence, like a soft duvet or the strongest lethargy.  
  
“Oh, Tsuna....”  
  
“But I think... everything could still work out. Since we kind of studied this weekend, if we both take two Dying Will pills before testing starts, we can make the most of what we reviewed and... maybe even remember more things! Right? Please? I'm _really_ not good at staying optimistic, Enma -- ”  
  
“No,” Enma interrupts, “that should be fine. Don't worry about it, okay, Tsuna? It wasn't your fault and it's not like Lambo could know any better.” His voice softens. “We'll pass. We promised, didn't we? So let's just go to bed and deal with it in the morning. I'll see you then.”  
  
“Yeah,” Tsuna sighs, smiles a little. “We... can definitely do this. Thanks. G'night, Enma.”  
  
“Good night, Tsuna.”  
  
He could've felt a pea underneath twenty mattresses that night.

* * *

Let's skip forward.  
  
Dazed and disoriented, Tsuna wakes up in Dr. Shamal's office _definitely_ feeling about twenty peas under his mattress, ugh. Sore all over -- host to a nebulous frustration beyond comprehension -- a voice enters and exits his consciousness like the tides: _Total negligence, yeah. Oh, no, I don't disagree he deserved it, but you could've spared the other kids the trauma. I'm sure they think they're both dead; science taught them that much at least. Do you realize how busy I'm going to be playing psychologist the next couple days? And it's not like I can pull a Freud on the girls --_  
  
“D-Dr. Shamal?”  
  
“Ah, looks like Princess has returned to the world of the living. We'll wait for you here.”  
  
 _Click!_ Tsuna's view of pristine, speckled ceiling blurs into a close-up of Dr. Shamal's receding hairline. Attractive. He wonders, momentarily, if Gokudera's planning on copying that look, too, when he grows up.  
  
“Tenth!”  
  
Tsuna inclines his head just so, sees gray. Speak of the devil, he might as well just ask! A taller figure next to Gokudera wears a worried face Tsuna's never seen before ( _Yamamoto?_ ), a shorter person bears one he'd recognize from any distance ( _Kyoko!_ ) and --  
  
“Tsuna.”  
  
\-- oh god it's _Reborn_.  
  
“You move fast,” Dr. Shamal remarks.  
  
“What kind of hitman would I be if I didn't?” Reborn accepts the compliment.  
  
And the events of the morning flood back:  
  
Tsuna, butt slowly assuming a square shape in your standard students' chair, takes your standard high school entrance exam on your standard students' desk in your standard students' classroom. Ms. Pre-Algebra proctors, paces the room at predetermined intervals. In the fifteen minutes since testing started, Tsuna determined he understands about half the questions, can formulate answers to even less. Situation desperate. He shares a look with Enma -- _Should we? Guess we have to._ \-- and swallows the pill with his spit, bites it on the way down. _Crunch._  
  
Tsuna is doused with clarity.  
  
His first thought: _Despite the fact I'm not naked, there's the minor technicality that --_  
  
“S-SAWADA TSUNAYOSHI! P-p-please stay w-where you are! I'm c-calling the fire depart -- KOZATO ENMA, YOU, TOO? E-everybody please remain calm, p-please, OH MY GOD -- ”  
  
Screaming. Everywhere. Everyone. Even Ms. Pre-Algebra. Tsuna catches Enma's eye again -- _We didn't think this through very well, did we? No, we didn't._ \-- spots Yamamoto and Kyoko's shocked, anxious faces and then -- Gokudera's there. Holding the fire extinguisher.  
  
He sprays Enma first, who crumples to the ground from the impact and foam.  
  
“Wait, Gokudera, I don't think that's -- ”  
  
“Brace yourself, Tenth!”  
  
Tsuna is doused with fire retardant.  
  
His last thought: _This is disgusting._  
  
We return to present day, present time.  
  
“I'm sorry, Tenth, really, I’m so, so sorry, I just didn't know what else to do and it seemed like the best way to get everyone to stop freaking out and -- ”  
  
“It's,” Tsuna inhales, “it's okay. What... happened afterward?”  
  
“The exam was canceled, obviously,” Reborn responds. “Not to mention we managed to disperse the local media with some, ah, force five minutes ago. You've been knocked out for about half an hour, Tsuna. Surely you've learned more from this experience than you have all year in school?”  
  
“Is... Enma okay?”  
  
“He's fine. Excepting Adelheid.”  
  
“.... O-oh.”  
  
“Well, Tsuna?”  
  
Tsuna closes his eyes. He can feel their stares -- Gokudera, frowning fit to carve a canyon on his face; Yamamoto, concerned and... maybe a little disappointed; Reborn, impassive as ever; Dr. Shamal, amused and pissed off all at once; Kyoko....  
  
“Tsuna,” she starts, takes his hand; flushed, he opens his eyes. “I'm so sorry. You should've told us the test scared you so much. We all would've helped you. I didn't even notice you were thinking about it all week....”  
  
A large hand lands on his head, ruffles his hair. “Seriously.” Tsuna looks up to see Yamamoto's trademark doofy smile. “I was pretty much in the same boat, but I'm sure all three of us -- you, me, Enma -- could've put our heads together and made one of Gokudera's.” His voice drops to a whisper. “It's not that he didn't think you couldn't pass the test on your own, Tsuna. He just didn't want you to worry about it all week or break down while you took it.”  
  
Gokudera's _I heard that, moron! What the hell makes you think you know what I think, huh?!_ aside --  
  
“So... when you invited everyone over to play Cluedo....”  
  
“It was to demonstrate a point, yes,” Reborn finishes. “I overheard your initial conversation with Enma and decided to meddle here and there. I apologize for ruining your handiwork as well, Gokudera, but I thought Lambo would enjoy those rings just as much as Tsuna and Enma.”  
  
“ _Why_ didn't that occur to me....”  
  
“Because you're an idiot,” Reborn says. “Fortunately, you're less of an idiot now than you were an hour ago. The exam has been moved to next Monday. I hope you know what's in store for you this week, Tsuna.”  
  
“Lots of studying.”  
  
“Ah! It appears we've already made progress.”

* * *

Three weeks after Namimori Middle successfully administers the test, between the last day of class and first festivities of graduation, results arrive by mail.  
  
Tsuna retrieves the envelope before Mama Sawada can. He opens it in his room, reads it twice, calls Enma.  
  
“Did you -- ?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Tsuna flops back on his bed. He scans the letter one more time -- high above his head now -- and finally breaks into a grin that splits his face in half. **  
  
**“ _Me too!_ ”


End file.
